


The Most Gryffindor Thing

by katajainen



Series: Decorating yourself and why this annoys your partner [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (because that deserves to be a tag), (sorta) - Freeform, Bearded Harry, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Shower Sex, Tattoos, Welcome Home Sex, very little plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 03:39:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13158480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katajainen/pseuds/katajainen
Summary: In which Draco returns from overseas to a surprise. He's less than impressed at first, but that does not mean he's not curious.And Harry can be quite persuasive when he puts his mind into it.





	The Most Gryffindor Thing

Harry Potter, barefoot in a T-shirt and jeans, was without any doubt the best thing Draco had seen in the past month.

'I missed you,' Harry said, but Draco could feel him flinch ever so slightly as he hugged him back. Frowning, he eased off until his hands were barely touching the back of Harry's T-shirt.

'Got yourself hurt on the job again, didn't you?' he sighed. 'And  _ what _ in God’s name are you wearing?' He had thrown that ratty thing away. He was quite certain he had. And what manner of entity was this Black Sabbath even supposed to be?

'It's old – and soft,' Harry said, as if that was any explanation. He paused, the corners of his mouth quirking up into a smile. 'But I'll take it off for you, if you promise to lend me a hand.'

'That has to be the single worst attempt at seduction I ever heard from you.' But Draco leaned in to kiss that smile off his face, nonetheless. It was a kissable smile, and it  _ was _ for him.

Harry laughed and pushed him at arm's length. 'Might be because it wasn't. Seduction, I mean. I really need a hand; there's this one spot I can't quite reach properly. Only – clean hands, please.'

'Fine,’ Draco said, resigned. ‘What is it this time? Burns or boils?' he asked, while Harry rooted through the medicine cabinet.

'Neither. Wait and see.' Harry tossed a small glass jar at him and disappeared into the bathroom. 

Draco squinted at the label as he scrubbed his hands. '"Speed-O-Heal – Troop Your Colours in Record Time"?  _ What _ have you done this time–?' He lifted an eyebrow to see Harry stepping out of his pants and boxers.

'And you are quite certain you're  _ not  _ trying to be suggestive, because that–'

Harry dropped the abominable T-shirt on the floor with the rest and stepped under the shower. 'I'll just wash the old stuff away first,' he said over his shoulder, then seemed to catch Draco staring and grinned. 'What? Something the matter?'

'You didn't.'

There was a phoenix soaring on the bare skin of Harry's upper back, poised as if caught mid-flight, fiery wingtips spread out over his shoulder blades, the long swooping tail-feathers curling down along his spine. Then the image disappeared from view and Harry's reply was muffled by the patter of water against the shower curtain.

'Yes,' he said. 'Got it finished just a few days ago.'

'The way you kept talking about it, I thought it was just that – talk.'

'No. I would have got it done sooner, only there was a waiting list. Hand me that towel, will you?'

Harry was still dripping water as he stepped from the shower, but he only rubbed the towel hastily down his face and chest before starting to pat at his back. Draco snatched the towel back from him and began to dab lightly at the newly-decorated skin. It wasn't a picture of a phoenix, he decided, but the idea of a phoenix stripped down to its essence, bold and stylized. And executed with no little skill, he had to admit.

'A waiting list?'

'Yeah. A year, or thereabouts. I figured that since I’m going to be stuck with this forever I might as well wait and have it done by someone who really knows her stuff. I think you’ve made me picky.' 

'A year?' Somehow Draco couldn't quite wrap his mind around the idea. 'You've had this planned out for a year and you didn't think to inform me?'

'I  _ have _ been talking about it, like you said.' Harry shrugged. 'I didn't think you'd be interested in the particulars.'

'You thought I'd try to talk you out of it.'

'That too. Which is why you’re looking at a done deed and not a sketch on paper.'

‘You couldn’t have known I’d be overseas.’

‘True– and that was my mistake; I had been counting on your help with this.’ Harry scooped a blob of lotion from the jar and started to spread it over the tattoo, making the ochre and orange and crimson inked into his skin glisten under the fluorescent light, and for the briefest fleeting moment, Draco thought of fire.

He gave up. 'Give me that.' Because in all honesty, he had no desire to see Harry wriggle and fail to reach that spot right between his shoulder blades.

The lotion smelled distinctly of spearmint, faintly of honey, and had minuscule green and lavender specks peppered through it. As he smoothed the stuff on Harry's skin, Draco thought idly about what it would take to analyse it for ingredients.

The tattoo felt different from unmarked skin, dry and almost papery under his fingertips. Up close Draco could see how parts of the design were obscured by a pale near-opaque scab. ‘Is this–’ he tapped a portion of wing lightly with one finger– ‘supposed to look like you’re shedding your skin?’

Harry shrugged, and the colours rippled over his back. ‘That’s the way it heals– but don’t go picking at it!’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’

Draco left the scab well alone, but let his fingers trace the borderline of inked and virgin skin quite a while after he was done with the lotion. Harry didn’t seem to mind. When he did shift, Draco looked up from his exploration to see him rest his dark tousled head in the crook of his arm, leaning against the tiled wall. With a single whisper-soft finger Draco drew a long slow line from the top of Harry’s left shoulder down to the small of his back, from wingtip to tail feathers. The flame-coloured wings beat in time to Harry’s hitching breath.

The steam from the shower had settled on Draco’s shirt, making the white cotton stick and cling to his skin. A shiver traveled down the length of his arms as he let his hands slip up and down Harry’s sides, slick on the water-cooled skin.

‘I hate this,’ he muttered.

‘Oh.’ A small, flat sound.

‘Only because I have to be careful. Because I can’t pin you to that wall like I want to.’ He gripped Harry’s hips tight to emphasize his meaning.

‘Oh that,’ Harry breathed, laughter in his voice. ‘That will pass. But Draco?

‘Yes,’ he replied and saw Harry’s skin rise in goosebumps where he breathed onto his shoulder.

‘You still have that stuff on your hands.’

Draco inched said hands towards Harry’s front, brushing his thumbs over each hip bone. ‘Yes?’

‘It stings like the blazes if it gets anywhere– well, sensitive.’

‘What, pray, have you done with yourself while I was away?’ Draco leaned closer, as far as he could get without touching Harry’s back, and pressed his lips to his unmarked right shoulder.

‘What do you think? I said I missed you, didn’t I? I sure as hell wasn’t talking about your conversation.’ Harry laughed. ‘And I rubbed my eye by accident, if you must know.’ 

Then Harry turned suddenly to face him, his grip firm on Draco’s shoulders as he backed him against the wall.

‘This,’ Harry murmured, his lips a whisper’s breadth from Draco’s, ‘this is what I missed.’ He spread his fingers onto Draco’s chest, and brushed his thumbs over his nipples, tight under the near-transparent cotton, making his breath halt and catch in his chest.

The kiss was achingly gentle at first, the cautious exploration of lips and tongue so soft, the touch barely there, that Draco trembled where he stood as Harry slid his hands lower, opened his belt and pulled his pants down with a sharp yank, and Draco thought he heard a clink somewhere, but what was one missing button when Harry was pushing against him, hard and silken and slipping against his own overheated skin, and Draco let his head fall back, his mouth open around a voiceless gasp. His hands hung useless at his sides, palms pressed against the tiles, because he didn’t quite dare touch, afraid he would forget. And also because it felt too good to be taken care of like this, without lifting a finger, as it was.

As if he had read his thoughts, Harry clasped his wrists and pinned his hands to the wall, trapping him, leaving him restrained by strong, thin-fingered hands, by his own pants twisted tight below his knees, held in a tight place between moist warm skin and muscle and cold hard wet tile, and Draco loved it. Loved when Harry nipped at the side of his neck, gently at first, then harder– ‘Don’t you dare–’ he hissed, and cried out when Harry did just that, biting down hard enough to leave a mark. ‘Fuck–’ And Draco would not beg, but he would arch away from the wall, up and closer, a high whimper torn from his throat when Harry rubbed his bearded cheek over the bite-mark.

‘Yes, but later, only please later–’

And between Draco’s punishing hours and Harry’s stake-outs and thrice-damned timezones they had had but Floo-calls for twenty-seven days, and that breathless promise was enough to conjure up an image of Harry, clad in nothing but his flame-coloured ink, his knees spread wide on the bed, looking over his shoulder at him, invitation darkening his green eyes, and it was too much. Draco strained against the hands clamping his wrists to the wall, fought to get closer, until he was pulsing hot and wet between them, sobbing out his pleasure against Harry’s mouth in tiny broken gasps, and Harry ground hard against him, the sensation on the verge of too much on his oversensitive flesh, but too good to push him away as he shuddered through his own peak.

Later, as they lay in the bed, the room lit only by silvery charmed flames dancing in a pale blue glass orb on the nightstand, Draco trailed two fingers lazily down Harry’s side, well clear of the tattoo’s edge. ‘Tell me again why you can’t cast a healing spell on this?’

Harry lifted his head from the pillow, squinting a bit without his glasses. ‘I was told it turns out better if you let it heal the Muggle way.’ He hummed thoughtfully. ‘A bit like coffee, really.’

Draco shot up an incredulous eyebrow. ‘You can’t compare injecting ink under your skin to brewing coffee!’

‘Why not? Both turn out better without magic.’

‘That’s nowhere near the same thing. Besides, this will have charm-work put in, won’t it?’ He  _ had _ seen one or two magical tattoos, proper ones – not like the Mark. It was not as if he was completely ignorant. 

‘That’s the plan. Once the skin is healed, of course.’

‘And what will you have it do? Flap around?’

‘Something like that,’ Harry said, nonchalantly but for the tell-tale quiver in his voice. ‘Or move its head. Too bad you can’t have noise in it.’ Yes, definitely holding back laughter.

‘That sounds like the most Gryffindor thing you could think to put on your skin.’ Draco sniffed. ‘Tattoos with noise in–’

‘Why yes! I was thinking I could maybe have the lion on my chest – imagine if you could add the roar!’ Harry deadpanned, only to lose his composure entirely after one look at Draco’s face.

‘I see you’ve been spending too much time with Weasley again,’ Draco said drily as Harry cackled helplessly into the pillow.

‘No. I don’t think so.’ Harry emerged, red in the face and possibly even more rumpled than before. ‘I’ve just missed teasing you. But honestly–’ he continued more soberly, sitting up and clasping Draco’s left hand– ‘I’d never put a lion here–’ he pressed Draco’s palm against his chest– ‘because it’s a serpent who already has my heart.’

Draco felt a blush starting to work it’s way up his neck and cleared his throat. ‘That sounded like something from a bad romance novel.’

‘Doesn’t make it any less true, though.’ Harry turned his hand palm-up and stroked at the inside of his forearm, his fingertip following the faded edges of the Mark. ‘Did you know some Muggles wear tattoos like this for decoration – skulls and snakes, I mean. It’s so faint now, though – could use some retouching, don’t you think?’

‘One tattoo and now you’re an expert?’ Draco scoffed, but made no effort to reclaim his hand.

‘No… but think about it: you could put a flower crown here–’ Harry traced a line across the top of the skull– ‘maybe roses– I think I saw something like that in a magazine once; red would be nice–’

‘No. No. Absolutely not.’

Harry bit his lip and pressed a soft kiss into his skin. ‘Fine, no red then. If you’re so certain.’

‘Yes. Absolutely.’ And Draco pulled Harry close and claimed his mouth before he could spout any more nonsense.

But he thought about the flower crown every now and then after that, and the thought always made him smile. 

**Author's Note:**

> I did promise I'd do the tattoo one, didn't I? (DISCLAIMER: I have no ink, **yet** , so everything I know about tattoo aftercare is second-hand information, and any and all mistakes are mine.)
> 
> This turned out twice the length of the other two combined, but I doubt anyone minds ;p
> 
> Once again, thanks to Saraste for the beta!


End file.
